


Memories of the Sun

by straightforwardly



Category: Shall We Date?: THE NIFLHEIM+
Genre: F/F, F/M, Ficlet Collection, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-28
Updated: 2017-01-28
Packaged: 2019-01-15 09:25:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 1,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12318234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/straightforwardly/pseuds/straightforwardly
Summary: A collection of ficlets written for Shall We Date? The Niflheim. Index in the first chapter.





	1. Index

01\. Index

02\. “Already Here” | The Pale Ghost - _Just another moment in the Pale Ghost’s long existence._

03\. “Coda” | Jean/Isabella - _Jean, the morning after his wedding._

04\. “Spices” | Sunny/Isabella - _Isabella gets distracted while walking down the street._

05\. “Awakening” | one-sided Philippe/Isabella - _It had taken a thousand years of waiting, of searching, but he’d finally found her._


	2. Already Here - Pale Ghost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just another moment in the Pale Ghost’s long existence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally written for fic_promptly’s April 2015 Contest Week, for the following prompt:
> 
> _Any, Any, alone too long_

The ghost stood on the balcony, his figure shrouded by the curtains, and gazed into the ballroom. Light and music spilled out beside him; inside, people danced and laughed, chattered and nibbled on small delicacies. 

Out of habit, the ghost sought out familiar figures. Skeletiano stood at the other side of the ballroom, but even from this distance, the ghost could catch snippets of his chattering. The nobleman, Orlando, was dancing; his partner flushed as he bent his head down to whisper something into her ear. He smiled, but his eyes, as ever, were cold. 

In contrast, the king was laughing, as was his own partner. 

The ghost wondered: would he be able to make someone laugh like that, someday?

He looked at the king’s wide smile, his bright, open face, and sighed.

Probably not. 

So many people, moving in the light. So many people, and none would ever know him. 

Even if he stood in the center of that ballroom and shouted on the top of his lungs, they would continue to dance and speak without pause. Even if he stood in that center of that ballroom, surrounded by the whirling mass of humanity, not a one would see that he was there. 

Balcony or ballroom; where he chose to stand and watch made no difference.

At least when he stood to the side of the balcony’s entrance, concealed by the curtain and the shadows, he could tell himself that that was the reason why none looked him in the eye. Why, in all these centuries, no one had ever called out his name.


	3. Coda - Jean/Isabella

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jean, the morning after his wedding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally written for fic_promptly’s April 2015 Contest Week, for the following prompt:
> 
> _Any, Any, My crown is called content, a crown that seldom kings enjoy._

Jean woke slowly, to the familiar shadows of his bedroom. He stiffened, and, as it did every morning, his mind raced as his worries came home to roost. The war— his friends— _Niflheim_.

Then Isabella stirred in his arms, still asleep, and reality reinserted itself. 

The war had been brief, and now it was over. The people he loved were safe. _Niflheim_ was safe. And he had learned that he could do more than destroy— that he had the power to protect the people he loved.

It was the last of these, more than anything else, that calmed him. For so long, he’d hidden his fears behind a mask of carelessness. For all that those closest to him had stayed and professed to not be afraid, he’d never been able to forget the expressions of those who’d left when the truth had first been revealed. 

Not even Orlando, who’d tried hardest at all, had been able to quell Jean’s doubts, for, no matter how much he had scoffed at him, he’d never quite managed to hide the concern lurking in his eyes. 

It mattered little that it was concern _for_ Jean rather than _of_ Jean. To make even a single one of his citizens worry or feel fear and pain— it was already enough for him to be a failure of a king.

But now...

He’d never known this kind of peace, and it was Isabella who’d brought it to him. Isabella, who’d listened when Orlando told her the truth and still smiled at him without hesitation; Isabella, who’d shown him how his hands could be used to heal.

Isabella, who’d chosen to marry him— who’d chosen to wake up next to him every morning for the rest of their existence. 

He’d often wondered why they, as the dead, needed to sleep; now he thought that, maybe, it was so they could enjoy the pleasures they’d lacked in life. 

Jean’s arm tightened around Isabella’s waist and he buried his face in her hair, breathing in its scent.

Any moment now, Orlando would be coming, ready to knock at his door and scold him for sleeping too long and neglecting his duties as king. And when that happened, Jean would laugh and dissemble as he always did.

But for now, he would lay there and enjoy the sensation of holding his new wife.


	4. Spices - Sunny/Isabella

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Isabella gets distracted while walking down the street.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for a fifteen-minute fic challenge. [This image](https://56.media.tumblr.com/cd4fb6c20ed2b21bf2aa6587481bd9fa/tumblr_mvrzg72cYn1rkiwnzo1_500.jpg) was the prompt.

Bright reds and blinding yellows blend next to dull greens and rich browns; powders, crushed leaves, and seeds in jars sit side-by-side with boxes filled with pods, sticks of cinnamon, fat nuts—

Isabella hovers over the stand, breathing in deep. The light of a nearby lantern strikes off of her, sending light and shadows scattering across her face, down the sharp curve of her neck. 

There is a name for this, Sunny thinks, some artist’s term, but she does not know it. 

Isabella turns back to her, beaming— burning. “Look!” she exclaims, her arm encompassing the entirety of the stand, as though an— admittedly generous— collection of spices was the entirety of the world, rather than some paltry, commonplace thing. “Isn’t it amazing?”

Yes, she thinks, even as she shakes her head. “Really, Princess. We’re going to be late.”

Isabella laughs, a short, breathy sound, and returns to her, though not without sending the stand one final, lingering glance. 

“Okay,” she says, and this time her smile is all for Sunny. “Let’s go.”


	5. Awakening - Philippe/Isabella

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It had taken a thousand years of waiting, of searching, but he'd finally found her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the prompt _Touch_ from Table 2 – Senses from monthlysupergo’s January Prompt Table Challenge.

The lid of the coffin slid away with the sharp scrape of stone against stone. Philippe pressed himself to the wall and watched as Orlando bent down over the open hollow, kindness sliding over his face like a mask. His living heart pounded in his chest, so fiercely that he wondered that no ghost was called by it; he only half-heard the words that Orlando now spoke. 

_A princess, a thousand years dead_ , the King had said when he assigned them this task. Her name lost to time— but who else could it be?

Orlando stepped back and Philippe moved forward. He bent down— and there she was, her hands folded over her chest as though she held flowers, her eyes wide-open from Orlando’s touch.

Isabella.

A thousand years rewound: for one long moment, it was as though he were in the world of the living once more, paying court to his princess. She laid there as still as death and utterly unchanged by it, save the lack of color in her cheeks. Her hair, the slender length of her fingers, the curve of her cupid’s bow, her eyes—

It was this last which broke the illusion. In life, she had never looked at him that way: candid, open, and unknowing. 

It had taken a thousand years of waiting, of searching, but he had finally found her. 

_For the King_ , some part of his mind thought. 

He did not allow the thought to dim the smile he gave her, but it was enough to recall him to his task. _Awaken her_ , the King had said to the three of them. _Give her speech_ , he’d said to Philippe. In that moment, looking down upon her, Philippe felt the impossibility of what the King had asked of him. 

It had been a thousand years since he’d last touched her, and even then it had never been anything more intimate than a brief kiss of a hand. He’d long hoped for more, to entwine her fingers with his, to press his mouth against hers, to feel her skin against his, but she had remained silent, and he had kept his distance. To lay hand upon her now, after all this time, when she looked at him with a gaze that did not know him— it seemed a sacrilege beyond any he had ever heard of in the living world. 

From behind him, he heard Orlando make a soft but pointed sound of impatience; before him, he saw the open longing in Isabella’s eyes. She lay there so still— in life too, he had never seen her so unmoving, even when she was at rest. He’d not been at her funeral, but he imagined this was how she must have looked upon that day, save for her bright, open eyes.

She’d never been made to be restrained.

It was that thought which decided him. 

“Dearest Princess,” he murmured, the endearment slipping from his mouth without conscious thought. “Allow me to release the seal upon your lips.”

He thought his hand would tremble, but it moved with more surety than his heart. He reached out, and brushed his fingers gently against the delicate skin of her mouth. 

She sucked in her first rattle of unneeded breath, and for the first time in what now felt like an eternity her voice rang out into the world around him, joyful, animated, and _free_.


End file.
